Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1) (9 page)

The candle maker opened the door for me after several long minutes, during which I endured the baker’s constant stare.

“Benella, come in,” he said with a small smile.  “What do you have there?”

“Peapods.  Would you be willing to trade?  I need a copper to buy flour.”

“Ah.” He nodded in understanding, holding out his hands.  My shoulders sagged in relief.

“What happened to the blunt silver?”

Groaning before I stopped myself, I admitted, “I gave it to someone who needed it more.”

“Interesting that Mrs. Coalre came in just yesterday to buy a candle.  I thought they were out of coin, too.”

I remained quiet and watched him set the peas on his table so he could shuffle over to a shelf.

“I’m not one for peas, but you allowed me to hold the flowers without asking for payment, so I can hardly deny you such a small request.”  He plucked a coin from a very tiny pile and brought it to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for his kindness.

“Go buy your flour, dear,” he said with a small wave as he settled back at his chair.

I promised myself that I would venture to the estate soon and circle it as many times as needed until it surrendered some more of those rare blooms.

The baker brightened when he saw me step from the candle maker’s but frowned at my empty hands.  I marched up to him, pulled a cloth from my bag—one of Father’s old neckcloths—and handed him the coin without trying to step inside.

“However much flour that will buy me, please,” I spoke softly, trying to keep the anger from my tone.

He turned and handed both to his sister.

“A handful, no more,” he cautioned her before turning back to me with a slight scowl.

We stood several feet apart, but I felt like I faced him toe to toe.  I kept my face impassive until he heaved a sigh and let his eyes drift to my chest.  Thankfully, his sister didn’t leave him much time to stare.

Accepting the bag, I quickly retreated, meeting up with Father as he left the school.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, eyeing the street behind me.

“Bryn sent me for flour.” I’d kept my tone pleasant, but he paused to study me.

“Very unkind,” he said before walking again.

“It wasn’t intentionally so,” I said, defending her.  “She’s upset that Tennen hasn’t tried to offer for her even though she knows you wouldn’t agree to the match.  She thought he had affection for her and isn’t seeing anything beyond her wounded pride.”

He said nothing.  When we arrived home, I handed the flour to a mildly surprised Bryn and went to change back into my trousers.  To occupy myself, I weeded the small garden while dinner cooked.  In the quiet, I remembered the crow and looked to the roof of the shed.

The crow was gone.

*    *    *    *

I believed the breaded fish tasted delightful but kept that thought to myself, fearing for my new pole.  Everyone ate in silence, and I wondered why.  They didn’t leave me wondering long.

“Do you think we’ll hear anything tonight?” Blye asked.

Father set his fork aside and steepled his fingers.  “I wouldn’t presume to guess.  The note was notoriously brief, and we have no idea if the man in question lingered in the area.  Travel may have been the reason for his request to take you with him last night.  We can only wait and see.”

She went back to eating in silence, but the conversation had me straining to hear outside the cottage.  Would we walk out in the morning to find another note on the door?

*    *    *    *

The next morning, nothing waited outside.  Bryn started packing in earnest while Blye went back to her quiet sewing.  Father, having no students to teach that day, insisted on walking with me as I foraged.  Typically on the days he didn’t need to teach, he used the time in his study to research.  Having moved many of his books already, no doubt his reduced selection had something to do with his wish to accompany me.

The sun shone brightly as we walked toward the estate.

“Nothing from the mysterious suitor last night?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“To your sisters’ disappointment, no.”  He kept pace with me, watching the trees around us.  Soon we came to the part where the mist crept along the bases of the trees.

“Peculiar,” he said, looking up.

“What is?”  I looked up but only saw the same wild, tangled vegetation I always did.

“The vines in the trees appear to be moving,” he murmured, tilting his head to watch.  “I heard the ones near the wall move as if alive, but this far from it?  I wonder...”

I knew they moved, but said nothing, not wanting to explain how I knew.  The night that Tennen had almost caught me still filled my dreams with running through the darkness.

“The place I usually visit is just ahead.  The last time it offered peapods in such abundance I almost cried for not having my bag with me.”

“Odd of you to leave without it,” he said, focusing on me again.

Inwardly cursing my slip, I smiled sheepishly and shrugged.  The mists thickened the further we went toward the estate until we only saw the immediate area around us.  I wondered at the unusually menacing feel of it.

“Perhaps we should head back,” I whispered, stopping abruptly to study the mist around us.

“I’m glad you think so,” he returned just as softly.  “I kept quiet, trusting your expert guidance, but the feel of this place—”

I spun toward him and saw vines wrapping around his waist. His eyes were wide with shock.

“Father!”  I flew toward him, tugging at the vines, but they didn’t budge.  More crept toward him, starting a slow familiar shuffle I knew would pull him into the estate.  He read the fear on my face and tried to reassure me.

“Stay here, Benella.  I’ll return soon.  This is only my first offense.”

I kept pace with him, but the vines tugged him up into the treetops and out of my sight.

“Don’t follow me,” he called in warning.  “You’ve trespassed too many times already.”

Ignoring his warning, I spun and ran blindly toward the gate.  Panting, I arrived to hear it creak open, barely able to make out the mist shrouded bars before me.

“Please,” I begged.  “My father didn’t mean to trespass; he was only following me.”

A growl started in the dark mist to my right, and I knew the beast waited for me.

“You refused me?”

Concerned about my father, I frowned in confusion before I realized what he meant.  The trunk.  I played as if I didn’t understand.  If the beast continued talking to me, he wouldn’t be able to toss my father over the wall.

“If I recall, I did not refuse your last request of me.  I still have the shirt to prove it,” I answered, still slightly out of breath.

“The trunk,” he said.

“The trunk someone left for my sister, Blye?  What of it?”

“The offer was meant for you,” he said in a deceptively soft growl that unnerved me.

His direct answer surprised me.

“Me?  Why would I need all that cloth?  I don’t sew.  Blye does.”

“You wanted a shirt.  I offered the means to own several shirts.”

I didn’t know what to say except, “Why?  Why did you offer for me?”

“You need not concern yourself with that,” he growled his frustration.  “Will you assent?”

“I cannot.”

Birds in nearby trees screamed in protest at his rage filled roar and took flight in a rush of a dozen flapping wings.

“Only a few days ago you lay on the ground, telling me you cared not whether you lived or died.  Holding so little value to your life, why not agree to my offer?”

With effort, I kept my voice soft and even to hide my fear.

“Value is an odd thing, subject to whim.  What one might find value in, another might not; what has value today might not have value tomorrow, depending on the wants and needs of the evaluating individual.  You prove this yourself with the same example you just provided.  Several days ago when I lay on the ground indifferent to what fate might decide, you were not so interested in me.  The issue is that neither of us understands the reason why we changed our minds.”

He remained silent, perhaps thinking I had more to say on the matter.  I didn’t want to push him any further though, so I let what I said linger in the quiet for a while before speaking again.

“My father?”

“Is unharmed,” he spoke softly just behind me.  My stomach twitched in surprise, but I managed to quell any other reaction to his unexpected nearness.

“May I have him back, please?”

Gently, he touched the back of my head, a single stroke of my hair from crown to the tip of my braid, which ended mid-back.  He lifted the braid and tugged on it slightly.  I held still before him, listening to my great gusting breaths as I remembered the last time he’d touched me when I’d thought him a pile of furs.

“I will return him to you whole and healthy in hopes that you may yet change your answer, Benella,” he said as his fingers threaded through my hair, loosening the braid.

As soon as my hair fell free, he disappeared.

After a few moments, I heard the rustling of leaves above, and the mists lifted enough that I spotted Father trussed up in the vines high above.  As soon as he spotted me, he went from looking intrigued to looking worried.

“Go, child!” he called in an urgent hush.  The vines began their stretching descent to bring him to the ground.  “I just heard the beast’s roar and know he must be near waiting for me.  You shouldn’t have come inside the wall.”

I remained despite his urging to flee.  When his feet touched the ground, the vines loosened and then shrank away.

“What an amazing journey,” he said, watching them for a moment before remembering where we were and the imminent threat of the beast.

“This way,” I motioned him to follow before he could say anything.  We walked through the gate, which slammed closed behind us with a metallic clang.

*    *    *    *

For the next several days, I stayed away from the estate, not out of fear, but because Father forbade me to return.  I struggled to find anything in the area outside of the estate’s boundaries.  Though the fish were plentiful, I knew Bryn and Blye grew tired of them.  Bryn tried cajoling me into another trip to the baker; but with nothing to trade and her unwillingness to part with a coin, I left her angry while I went to fish.

During this time, we entertained several more suitors, which both of my sisters rejected out of hand.  Father nodded each time, accepting their answer; but I read the concern etched in his expression.  Then one day, with solemn acceptance, he said we should begin packing our belongings to leave the next morning.  None of us questioned him, but we all wondered how we would live in the tiny two-room house.

*    *    *    *

In the morning, Father walked to the smith to borrow the wagon he’d used last time.  Into it, we packed the rest of the books, Father’s bed and my sisters’ bed, our trunks, cookware, and the last of our food.  The desk, table, and remaining bed stayed with the house to entice the next schoolmaster.  While we worked, a crow cawed at us incessantly.

When we had everything loaded, Bryn and Blye climbed onto the bench seat with Father while I sat on the backend of the wagon.  The crow quieted as Father clucked the team forward, and I wondered what he would tell the beast.

We pulled onto the main road of town, and I noticed the butcher outside his door and gave a wave of farewell.  The baker watched from the shadows of his porch, but I pretended not to notice.  Sara stood near the quiet anvil at the smithy, looking down at the ground.  I wondered what would become of her husband’s dealings with the baker, knowing the blunt silver had already run out for her.

Clearing the village, the wagon jostled ponderously north until the road curved near the estate.  There the woods remained eerily dark and quiet until it too passed from sight.  Riding in a wagon, even if it was a butt-bruising ride, ensured a more pleasant second trip to Water-On-The-Bridge.

Arriving well before lunch, Father took a circumspect route to our new home, avoiding the main thoroughfare with its questionable businesses.  We worked together to unload our belongings, cramming them into the main room of the very small house. Then Father drove the wagon back to the smith.  While he was gone, Blye packed her precious dress and walked to the dressmaker, who agreed to hire her but could not offer her lodging.

Bryn and I put together Father’s bed in the main room and set up their bed in the single, private room.  With effort, we also managed to wedge in the three trunks.  When we finished, I eyed our house with dismay.

The kitchen came equipped with a stove and dry sink like our prior cottage.  Near the stove sat a table for two with two chairs.  Not three feet from that, Father’s bed sat against the back wall between the door to the backyard and the door to our room.  A fireplace, cleverly set on an interior wall, worked to heat the main room and the room beyond.  Before the fire, a worn stuffed chair would welcome a weary scholar.  To the right of the fireplace, just before a window set into the front of the house, sat a desk and several shelves that already brimmed with Father’s books.  To the right of that was the front door, bringing my slow turning tour to an end.